Rant
by L.M. Griffin
Summary: Gillette - calm, snarky, refined - except in matters of the heart and James Norrington, is forced to face jealousy, disturbed Murtogg, butchered Shakespeare, angry Elizabeth, and kittens. Angsty-fun for all! Up-Dated!
1. Default Chapter

Rant  
  
by L.M. Griffin  
  
Chapter 1  
  
~~~~~~~~~  
  
Lieutenant Jonathan Ashley Bush paused outside of the office door, eyebrows raised at the yelling within. He tilted his head towards the heavy oak, eyebrows drawn together as he tried to make out who was yelling, and for what purpose. After a moment his lips quirked upwards once, then he composed himself. He knocked once. There was a harried 'Come In', and he entered with letters in hand, a demure expression on his face as he surveyed the situation before him.  
  
"Je ne crois pas du tout que vous feriez quelque chose si complètement bête!" Lieutenant Andrew Cristophe Gillette bellowed at the man behind the desk, dark eyes sharp and tone biting as he paced, his graceful hands moving in sharp, angry gestures as he spoke, the language of his grandfather echoing through his London-born-and- bred-roots. He paused only to yell again, pointing a finger at the utterly composed figure in the fine oak chair. "Avez-vous un potiron sur les épaules, ou peut-être un tête avec quelque espoir du bon sens!?"  
  
"Good afternoon, sirs." Bush said smoothly, neatly sidestepping the infuriated Gillette to step up to the man to the desk. "Your correspondence, Commodore."   
  
"Thank you, Bush." Commodore James L. Norrington (no, you may not have the pleasure of his middle name) took the letters from Bush's hands, and glanced up at Gillette, his green eyes flickering through varying emotions. His aqualine features were set in a mixture of wry helplessness and a measure of friendly tolerance. This was, after all, a scene that had played out many times over -many- years of accquaitence. "Now, really, Gillette, that's a bit harsh."  
  
Gillette spun on his heel, finger quavering in the air as he glowered at Norrington. "Elle est l'affaire la plupart bête dans l'histoire du monde depuis que l'invention du rhum!" Then he was off again.  
  
Bush watched Gillette for another moment, as Norrington sighed and started going through his mail. "The Lieutenant seems upset, sir."  
  
"Really. I hadn't noticed." Norrington commented dryly, as he took out his letter opener.  
  
"Oh, indeed. I take it that something went amiss in the latest raid? He seems to have bypassed English completely and went straight to ranting in French, after all." Bush added innocently, lifting one eyebrow at his commanding officer.  
  
"As soon as we walked off the ship, he requested an audience." Norrington let out another sigh, and glanced up at his third. If Gillette was his right arm, then Bush could be considered his left. "It wasn't -that- bad of an... incident. I hardly see the need for ranting at me in a completely different language right off."  
  
Gillette stopped dead in his ranting to stare at Norrington for a moment, then smiled thinly. He put his hands behind his back, and said with mock-pleasantness. "Mais peut-être je me trompe tout à fait. Peut-être vous n'êtes pas un imbécile, mais un suicidaire."  
  
"Suicidal?" Bush's other eyebrow raised in question.   
  
"You forgot the sir, Gillette." Norrington said mildly. "It's nothing, Bush. Honestly. I just led a charge into the pirate's stronghold."  
  
"Dans ce cas, je regrette vous de announcer, MONSIEUR, mais vous êtes ENCORE PLUS idiot que je vous ai déjà dit!" Gillette ground out, then turned to Bush, switching to English without missing a beat. "Oh no, he didn't just lead a charge up into the stronghold ... he led the charge up a slope, where we were being fired down upon, a good twenty paces in front of the rest of the troops! We had to RUN to catch up to him!"  
  
"It was an inspirational charge. The men were feeling pinned down - we never would have gotten them to move otherwise," Norrington argued lightly, sitting up slightly in his chair.  
  
"Oh! And here I thought you were angry because he used his sword-arm, instead of switching off after that fencing injury." Bush said with a chuckle and a wave of his hand. Then he stopped dead, staring at Norrington.  
  
"Of course not, I didn't even know about the fencing... injury...." Gillette trailed off himself, also turning his gaze to Norrington.  
  
Norrington cleared his throat, suddenly looking down at his letters innocently. "Oh Look. My mother has written me. I wonder if it's about my aunt's lumbago.."  
  
"You... have a fencing injury? You didn't tell me you had a fencing injury!!" Gillette sputtered, waving his hands in the air.  
  
"You charged up a slope in FRONT of the marines?!" Bush said, his voice rising with each syllable.  
  
Norrington let out a long, deep breath, before rising to his feet, his green eyes flashing like hard emeralds. "Lieutenants, AT ATTENTION!"  
  
The effect was instantaneous - both men snapped up straight, eyes forward, bodies rigid, and to Norrington's great relief, completely silent. He put his hands behind him, raising an eyebrow at them both from beneath his powdered wig. "Now. As much as I appreciate your concern over my safety, may I remind you both that I am an officer in His Majesty's Navy, therefore I will do my duty to the fullest degree possible. I am sorry to say that includes attacking pirates without a shield in front of me, and continuing on with a -miniscule- gouge in my arm. It is a filthy job, but I do not see anyone outside of the men in this fort lining up to willingly die for King and Country."  
  
Gillette twitched, and Bush coughed, but they made no other response. Military training, Norrington thought to himself wryly, had its advantages beyond the normal scope of things. He continued, that slight smirk on his lips "Now - for the present. We are back in Port Royale - I am no worse for wear - and the -only- dangerous thing I shall do this evening is attempt to make small talk with people I dislike in a social context, because they are frivolous twits with the brains of an addled monkey. So I think your worries shall be laid to rest, if not my boredom."  
  
This earned him a twinkle in Bush's eyes, and the corners of Gillette's mouth moving up just so, which was what Norrington was aiming for. He sat once more, folding his fingers into a steeple. "Since I expect you both there to 'pull me out of harm's way', and perhaps plan an early escape from the banality, you may now return to your duties. After their conclusion, you shall return home to change, and meet me at Mrs. Van-Crife's home at precisely six." He looked at both of them, and said with a degree of finality. "Dismissed."  
  
Bush and Gillette fired off sharp salutes, and moved towards the door as one. Norrington watched the door shut behind Bush, adding quietly, "And God bless you both."  
  
What would he do without them nagging at him to take care of himself? Especially Gillette, who had gone above and beyond the call of duty to keep his superior officer going through Elizabeth Swann's public rejection, and the long months that followed. 'The man is a miracle.' Norrington reflected to himself with a little smile, 'But then I knew that the moment I first saw him.'  
  
Eight years ago ... eight years? Had it been that long? It seemed like yesterday he was put in charge of the motley crew of midshipmen and regular sailors, put under his command to sail the -Interceptor- from England to the Caribbean itself. He was the young Lieutenant then, and the voyage was to be his testing ground for further positions in the future. Gillette was the near silent midshipman - the other lieutenants and captains thought him dull and stupid because he hardly spoke, but Norrington watched the way the young redhead handled his duties with sharp precision.   
  
So Norrington watched, waited, and pushed at all the right moments, until he pushed true. It forced Gillette to reveal his little secret - he was a quarter-French in a delicate position of power on a British Naval ship. Not an idiot - not by far, but one who was afraid to speak unless he spoke wrongly and ended up at the other end of a vicious beating.   
  
Of course, the -way- his past was revealed - Gillette chewing out his superior in French for some major 'idiocy' - just made Norrington's gut instincts ring all the more true. This was the man he wanted to cultivate as his second, but more importantly, as someone he could depend on with his life. Gillette wasn't afraid to speak his mind when necessary, and with Norrington's obvious arrogance, it was something the lieutenant needed. From that one encounter, they were together inseparably - through promotions and dressingdowns, good times and bad.   
  
He had, like a good second, taken him out for a long night of drinking after Elizabeth had rejected him. He had understood that one day more meant 'one day to get myself back together again. One day to be honorable. One day to let my conscience and heart rest easier.'  
  
Gillette was the one constant in James Norrington's life that wasn't subjected to the whims of the weather, favoritism in the Court, or handsome young blacksmiths. Norrington had a feeling he would have Gillette by his side until they both died, and the thought comforted him.  
  
"If I had known, however, that I would be getting regular nagging in French when I took that rash young man under my wing...." Norrington mused aloud, then chuckled. "I probably still would have. Ah, James Norrington, what a glutton for punishment you are." He smirked, then continued to read his mother's letter on his aunt Esther's lumbago.   
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
"Lieutenant Gillette!" Bush said after the quickly moving figure. "Lieutentant ... God-Damn-It man, slow down! You know I can't keep up with you in a snit!"  
  
  
  
Gillette made a growling noise, but slowed appropriately to let Bush catch up with him. "He seriously could have done himself a harm, and he puts it all up to duty!"  
  
"I know, Cris." Bush said, trying to soothe him with the familiar nickname Norrington called Gillette. "But it -is- James. He is a man of action and unfortunately, the action is usually at the -front- of the battle."  
  
"He had a previous injury. He could have gotten himself killed, fighting with a weakened arm," Gillette grumbled, nodding briskly at a passing pair of marines, who saluted back respectfully.   
  
"I doubt it. After all, you were there," Bush said reasonably, a little smile on his face. "I am positive that you were only ten steps behind him the moment he started up that slope. He knew it too, or why else would he go?"  
  
"Because he is bloody insane!" Gillette turned back to his friend, at the amusement on his face, and deflated a little. "He ... is James. Brave to a fault - never afraid, never backing down."  
  
"And he is someone who trusts the men he puts at his back. Especially his loyal second," Bush said with a firm little nod, and then his lips quirked. "Aaah, but if he only knew how -loyal- you -really- were."  
  
"Ash..." Gillette said warningly, glancing around nervously. "Do NOT start."  
  
"I have started nothing. I am merely -continuing- an old argument. You should tell him how delightfully into Plato's works you are," Bush said firmly, his chocolate brown eyes fixing on Gillette's darker ones. "Not to mention Commodores."  
  
Gillette's nostrils flared, and he hissed lowly. "You realize what you are speaking of is completely ILLEGAL? The very mention of it could see me hanged."  
  
"Sodomy is illegal, Cris," Bush said with a little wave of his hand. "Such things have to be proven, after all and I know not one man who would see you convicted of it, at any rate. Our men respect you too much to send you to the gallows, and Norrington has more than enough pull to squash the charges at will. Beyond that, you have not even told the man how you really feel about him, much less bedded him. Rather like putting the cart before the horse."  
  
Gillette let out a sigh, staring to the sky, before moving off again. "I blame your Calvinist upbringing for your utter lack of morality."  
  
"And I blame your emotional Puritanism for your lack of bravery in matters of the heart. I have seen you take on undead pirates with not much more than a look of surprise at their existence, but put you before James Norrington ... and you lose all your nerve. I swear, you can tell the man he has the brains of a pumpkin to his face. What is so hard about this?" Bush asked dryly.  
  
"...Because pithy insults do not have the weight of meaning that imparting my feelings would." Gillette sighed softly. "I am not even sure I would have the words. It is so much easier to worry and rage than it is to -feel- where that worry comes from."  
  
Bush looked at his friend for a long moment, and clapped his shoulder. "As the Bard says, my friend, Love as thou wilt."  
  
Gillette smiled tiredly. "Yes, but I do not think one of Shakespeare's actors was ever in love with him."  
  
"Are you sure about that? All his actors -were- men, after all," Bush said, grinning.  
  
"Go To Your Duties, Lieutenant Bush," Gillette groaned, pointing off in one direction. "And leave me in peace, you lascivious fiend."  
  
"Parting is such sweet sorrow." Bush sighed dramatically, moving off slowly and putting one hand to his chest. "To work I go, fair Romeo! But remember this, naught one man was ever sinned for stealing a kiss!"  
  
"Your prose is abysmal, and old Will is turning in his grave right now in pure horror," Gillette retorted, turning to walk in the opposite direction.   
  
Not thinking of stealing kisses, not at all.  
  
Not thinking of the way those green eyes flashed at him, years ago in that room where he ranted out his frustration. Nearly choking on his own heart at the thought he had just insulted his superior. Those eyes flashing, and then... that smile. That rare, beautiful smile.  
  
He lost his heart to that smile. Lost it, never recovered it, but chased after the keeper of it fervently. 'Only to be near you', was the thought, 'Only to be near you, and that is enough.'  
  
Or at least, so he thought. Until Elizabeth Swann grew to womanhood, and that rare smile appeared in thought of her - her beauty, her wit, her determination and indomitable spirit. Gillette had never given the girl much thought before that - but when he thought of her now it was all he could do not to grind his teeth down to sand.  
  
'Tis better to have loved and lost, was the saying. Obviously, it was one that was not used by those who lost in the first place. Gillette's only comfort was it was unrequited, but it was a thin comfort at that. It didn't warm him in the cold moments of watching James's nervous, heartfelt proposal to Miss Swann on the fort wall. Of course, if he hadn't turned away - perhaps he would have noticed her falling off the fort wall. Then again, would have it had made much of a difference?  
  
'Miracle she missed them, indeed. More like a damned curse.' He sighed to himself, pushing open his own office door, eying distastefully the pile of paperwork that awaited him. 'If she hadn't, there would have been no Sparrow. No undead pirates. No Turner. No watching James get his hopes precariously high up at her acceptance, only to have them dashed in front of all. If only. If only....'  
  
He hung his hat up on its hook, and settled himself down with quill and paper to write up the lastest roster assignments for guard duty, but memories paused his busywork.  
  
'Is this ..is this where your heart truly lies, then?'  
  
'It is.'  
  
"Ah James ..." Gillette sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose, the stricken look on Norrington's face coming to the fore as bright and painfilled as any sword wound. "Love as thou wilt, indeed. It hasn't seemed to work very well for both of us, has it? But I wouldn't change a thing, as cruel as that sounds. At least without a love of your own, you will always be mine."  
  
A bitter smile passed his lips, and with another pained sigh, he returned to his papers. 


	2. Chapter 2 Social Engagements

Author's Notes: You know they don't belong to me! I mean, c'mon! Jack and Damian would never leave my room otherwise!  
Dedicated to the Girls of the NDL, and my Slyness. Bring on the French Snark.  
Rant  
by L.M. Griffin  
  
Chapter Two - Social Engagements  
--------------------------------  


Mrs. Van-Crife's party was well into its swing by the time the three officers arrived, promptly at six. All three were immediately swept in different directions. Mrs. Van-Crife snagged the Commodore to 'make the rounds'. Bush was pulled by the young ladies to the piano to sing duets. Gillette was surrounded by the young society men eager to hear about the latest raid and Commodore Norrington's 'gallant' charge up into the stronghold. 

By six thirty, all three were bored beyond belief. It was a scant fifteen minutes before dinner was called when Gillette and Bush were allowed to catch their breaths and take up glasses of punch. Gillette, however, had not forgotten their earlier conversation, so fell into one of their old games to 'pass the time'. 

"That is truly a lovely gown that Miss Tate is wearing this evening," Gillette said, lifting his glass of punch half-way to his mouth. Beside him, Bush tensed again, his lips twitching once. Gillette's dark eyes flashed, as he added. "I wonder how many old windowsashes she had to take down to find that _particular_ shade of old and faded green? Not to mention the pattern of the fabric! Big, blooming red flowers. How very... subtle." 

"Andrew, stop. I mean it," Bush whispered, stilling his expression as best he could. He smoothed down his dress uniform to stop the shaking of his shoulders. "If this is revenge for the Shakespeare...." 

"Her sister's gown, however, is a true masterpiece of our country's seamstress trade. How else can so _much_ fabric be used to emphasize so _flat_ a bosom?" Gillette continued innocently, sipping from his cup. He was winning this round, hands down. Bush was practically begging for comeuppance and amusement all at once, and Gillette was more than happy to oblige. 

The 'game' itself had started at a party not unlike this one. The two had stood against a wall, freshfaced, fidgeting midshipmen in their scratchy new dress uniforms. Completely ignored by the rest of the crowd to boot, for Gillette was too intimidated by making a mistake in nervousness and slipping into French, and Bush, the newest member of the cadre, was simply too nervous. 

However, it was Bush who began the game by suddenly sniggering, then covering his mouth to hide his laughter. Curious, Gillette had leaned over and asked him what was so funny. Bush leaned back and murmured that he had, for a moment, mistaken the poodle in Miss Bothel's arms for the wig that her father was wearing. Although the wig seemed less frightening that the dog itself, he had added. 

Gillette choked on a laugh, and Bush, noting that this was the first time that he had seen the young man ease up around him since he had come aboard the _Interceptor_, continued jovially the entire night. Gillette nearly snorted punch up his nose three times, and had the most enjoyable time he had had in ages. The next party, Gillette had taken the fore, and through repressed laughter a tight friendship was formed. 

"Andrew, I swear to _God_, if you don't stop this very instant, I shall take you outside and hurt you _severely_," Bush growled, clamping down on the glass in his hand so hard that it looked like it might shatter in his grip. 

Despite all threats to the contrary. 

Gillette seemed to pause to contemplate this, taking another long sip of punch as the droning voices of the party washed over them. His nose and eye twitched a little, as he commented, gesturing with his glass. "Will it hurt me as much as the dress Mrs. Bilsworth is wearing? Because the color alone is making me half-blind." 

Bush couldn't help himself. He glanced in the direction Gillette pointed, and choked. "...Dear God." 

Gillette continued on, one eyelid still twitching. "Of course, I am only half blind because my other eye closed in self-defense. Tell me, do you think that shade really exists in nature, or Mrs. Bilsworth's obviously color-blind imagination?" 

That did it. Bush shoved his glass into an amused Gillette's hand, and disappeared between the curtains behind them. Gillette's smug smile widened as he heard Bush's choked laughs, but the expression stilled when a familiar dry voice came from behind him. "I thought I told you two to stop playing that game in closed quarters?" 

Gillette half turned towards his Commodore, forcing his lungs to keep working and his heart to slow in beating at the sight of him. As always, James was exquisitely elegant in his formal uniform. The slight smirk curling his lips, the flash in his green eyes... Gillette formed a reply, glad his voice didn't crack from guilt or longing. "What game, sir? We were merely conversing." 

"You know very well what game, Gillette," Norrington retorted, moving to stand beside him. Towering, more like it. 

Gillette noted the nice way the coat fit over Norrington's shoulders, mentally smacked himself for noting the fact in the first place, and put on his most innocent expression. "Now sir. You know very well we don't play that game any more. Why, it's rude, not to mention ungentlemanly. A fact you have pointed out more than once." 

"Ye-es. I believe I have." Norrington folded his hands behind him, fixing a stern look at his second. "So why _exactly_ is Lieutenant Bush hiding in the curtains, laughing hysterically?" 

Gillette's mind raced for a moment, as he looked from the curtains, back to Norrington. Then he smiled, dazzlingly bland. "Well sir, you must admit. Those are _very_ amusing curtains." 

Norrington stared at him for a moment, the corners of his mouth twitching. Bush came up to Norrington's other side, adding with his own equally ingenuous expression, "Funniest things I've ever seen. Just look at the ridiculous way they hang over the windows." 

Norrington glanced between them, then he broke down and flashed a wry smile. "_Honestly_. Can't you find _one_ nice thing to say about anyone here?" 

Bush and Gillette looked at each other, and Gillette spoke gravely, as he handed Bush back his punch. "Jonathan, I've been meaning to tell you just how _marvelous_ you look in your uniform. Very dashing." 

"Why _thank_ you, Andrew!" Bush said, brown eyes twinkling. "And might I add that your uniform looks especially charming. It brings out your eyes beautifully." 

"Oh stop. You'll make me blush." Gillette smirked, waving his hand a little, as he turned to look at Norrington. The Commodore looked like he was between laughing and glaring again, so Gillette took it one more step. "And James ... perfectly gorgeous. As always." 

"Quite. A round of applause goes to you, James, for making a uniform look like _more_ than a uniform. A uniform, with _style_." Bush clapped his hands together politely, but carefully, as he still had the punch in hand. After a mere second, Gillette joined in. 

Norrington's lips quirked upwards, as he covered his mouth and coughed. "...If you two keep this up, I'll have to go visit the curtains myself." 

"Yes, but be warned. They're hilarity inducing." Gillette warned, smiling warmly up at him. Norrington's lips parted (deliciously, at least in Gillette's opinion) to reply, when a slightly nasal female voice pulled their attention away. 

"Oh _there_ you are, gentlemen!" Mrs. Van-Crife swept down on them, a maroon-clad wave, fluttering her fan. "We're about to go in to dine, and of course I know if you start in everyone will follow, Commodore." 

"Naturally. He inspires a great deal of it generally, after all." Gillette said with a straight face. "Sometimes we follow him all the way home from a battle, like lost puppies." 

Mrs. Van-Crife laughed, then gestured around. "Now Lieutenant Gillette... I know your sharp eyes for such things. What do you think of my party?" 

Norrington and Bush glanced at each other in alarm, but Gillette smoothly tipped his glass and his head respectfully. "Mrs. Van-Crife, you know _exactly_ what I think. Would I ever even dream thinking otherwise?" 

"Such a _charmer_ you are, Lieutenant! A wonder some darling woman hasn't snapped you right up." Mrs Van-Crife fluttered her fan and her eyelashes, trailing off to the next guests. 

Bush remarked dryly, as they watched her glide away. "You realize you never actually said you _did_ like it, Andrew?" 

Gillette shrugged with a little smirk, as he put his cup on one of the little tables. "Yes, but she really wasn't looking for my honest opinion, was she? Although my honest answer would have made for a _much_ more interesting dining experience." 

Norrington tossed him an amused glance that made Gillette's heart soar, then nodded towards the dining room doors. "Come along, troublemaker. Dinner is about to start." 

"Yes, sir," both lieutenants chirruped obediently, each falling in to either side of Norrington. Like a small fleet, they cut through the stragglers to the dining room. There, the Commodore was sat between Mrs Van-Crife and her daughter Marybelle. Trapped, he could only make the lightest of polite chatter, occasionally looking down the table enviously, to where Gillette sat, moving his hands in what looked to be a very amusing story. 

Good man was Gillette, for he turned towards Norrington and said pointedly at one point in the story. "Wasn't that so, sir?" 

"...no, I think that lace doilies are quite charming ... what was that, Gillette?" Norrington said, shifting slightly to one side as Marybelle leaned in towards him. 

"I said, oh... _pardon_ me, Miss Van-Crife, you had something to say to the Commodore?" Gillette said loudly, eyebrows lifted at the young lady, drawing attention to her from all sides. 

Marybelle flushed, then leaned away. "No, no, Lieutenant. Nothing that cannot wait. Pray continue." 

"As I was saying... Commodore, wasn't it so that we caught the _Viper_ with their pants down, pardon the expression, ladies. It's a bit.. French." Gillette smiled wickedly, as the ladies tittered and the gentlemen just guffawed. 

Norrington watched in silent awe - he was never as good at charming and in turn shunning people with just the power of his personality as Gillette was. His Lieutenant always knew the latest fashions, and dances, thanks to the five older sisters who wrote to him constantly from London and Paris. His elegant manners made him a valuable commodity socially, and his wit was praised and feared. Bush often joked that they'd never be invited to half as many parties if Gillette hadn't been invited first. 

_And to think this was the shy young man who would barely give you greeting as you passed by him on deck_, Norrington mused, as he leaned forward to answer. "Well, I wouldn't say they lost any clothing, Gillette, but they did certainly lose their heads." 

Gillette flashed him a warm, knowing smile, as he turned to his audience, which now made up the length and breadth of the table itself. "Exactly, sir. Apparently we had caught them between trading points - they had all their plundered swag but none of the supplies they needed. So they were stuffing the first thing they could think of into the cannons, as they had no munitions, and very little powder. We came alongside of them, and they opened fire on us... with fruit." 

"Fruit?" Miss Tate fluttered her hand in front of her. "Surely you're joking, Lieutenant!" 

Gillette turned to Norrington for confirmation, black eyes flashing with humor. "Sir? A little help?" 

"A full complement of fruit, Miss Tate. From English apples right down to Spanish oranges," Norrington said gravely, although his green eyes twinkled at Gillette. 

"So what happened? Did any of the fruit hit the _Dauntless_?" Miss Tate said, eyes wide. Gillette had them in the palm of his hand, and he knew it. 

"Well, it would have ... if the fruit hadn't exploded inside their own cannons and set fire to the ship itself." Gillette smirked. "We simply waited until they abandoned the _Viper_ to fish them out of the water, still covered in a mishmash of fruity innards." 

He waited for the titters of laughter to die down, before he gracefully lifted one hand. "Ah, but that wasn't the best part. Truly, the highlight of the little excursion was when our fine marines dragged the pirate captain, who had jumped right into one of our boats, in front of the Commodore himself." 

"Covered, might we add, in apple and peach slush?" Bush added, leaning over to pour more wine into Gillette's goblet. 

"Thank you, Jonathan, for the wine and the visual aid." Gillette took the glass up, twirling it in his goblet for a moment, before taking a long sip. He nodded his head in approval, smiling down at Mrs. Van-Crife. "Excellent vintage, as always, Mrs. Van-Crife." 

Mrs Van-Crife fluffed up with pride. "Oh Lieutenant... really, you flatter too much." 

Norrington caught Bush's eye from down the way, bemused. Bush raised his eyebrows once, and batted his eyelashes twice with a knowing smirk on his lips. 

"Never enough for a wise hostess and a good wine. Now... where was I?" Gillette looked around, knowing someone would chime in. 

Marybelle answered the call. "The pirate captain had just been dragged in front of the Commodore!" 

"Thank you, Miss Van-Crife. The Commodore was standing at the helm, and when they brought the pirate captain before him, he took one look at the wretch and he said... " Gillette started to laugh, looking over to Bush, who had his hand over his mouth in an attempt to control the sniggering. "...and he said, 'Well, sir. I am not entirely sure if we should hang you, or put you into a pastry tin and bake you.'" 

The entire table burst into laughter - gentlemen openly chuckling, while ladies lifted up their hankerchiefs daintily to giggle. A woman near the end of the table, one Gillette had never seen before, lifted her voice to be heard. It was, Gillette had to admit, a rather pleasant voice to have hit the ears. "So tell me, Commodore, how did you finally settle the matter?" 

Norrington didn't glance down that far, however, but let his eyes rest on Gillette. "The decision was made to hang him. After all, pirate turnover is hardly what I would call appetizing." 

This was met with more laughter, as the food was served. Norrington found the meal much more tolerable after that, for the talk changed from table settings to his exploits. While these were embarrassing to hear how Gillette and Bush raved of his bravery and so on, at least it wasn't about _doilies_. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

An hour later, Gillette finally made his bid for escape as he slipped into the front hall, asking the steward for his and the others' coats and hats. His departure was noted, much to his dismay, by one of the Tate sisters. The sisters were notorious for cornering young officers, and Gillette was determined not to be one of them. 

"Leaving so soon, Lieutenant Gillette?" Miss Tate said, a pout on her lips as she saw the young officer drawing on his hat and coat. 

Gillette bowed gracefully, but at a distance. "I am afraid that the toils of office await us all on the morrow, Miss Tate. But we look forward to your upcoming ball." _Like we would look forward to having a sword rammed into any part of our bodies._ "In fact, I merely await the arrival of Lieutenant Bush and the Commodore." 

"I believe they're in the front parlour, speaking with Lady Susan." Miss Tate gestured as she took two steps forward, making Gillette retreat warily back. 

"Lady Susan?" Gillette asked, as he moved towards the front parlour. "I do not believe I know her Ladyship." 

Miss Tate's smile went sharp. "I doubt any woman in your acquaintance would introduce you, Lieutenant." 

"Really now." Gillette's eyebrow rose, as he dipped his head again. "This sounds intriguing enough for investigation. Good evening to you, Miss Tate." _And good riddance!_

Gillette walked, as quickly as he could without running, into the front parlour, looking for two familiar figures in dark blue frock coats. It didn't take him long to find James - it never did. Both he and Bush were smiling, deep in conversation with... 

They parted, showing the lady who had spoken earlier. Gillette's eyebrows rose - he could understand on pure physical beauty why his friends looked so intrigued. With a fine figure, long, golden-straw colored hair bound into delicate curls, and dark blue eyes framed with goldenbrown lashes, she was certainly one of the better looking women Gillette had ever encountered. Not to mention her fine silken gown of violet was the only dress he had encountered so far this night that didn't make him want to twitch in pain. 

Of course, Gillette was never really taken in by female beauty, so he moved forward while he saw so many gentlemen retired in shyness or awe. He paused a polite distance away, and then coughed a little before commenting. "Gentlemen, the hour grows late." 

Bush glanced over, and his expression brightened more. "Gillette, there you are! Come and meet her Ladyship." 

"The carriage can wait another moment." Norrington turned, gesturing Gillette forward, which he did without question, to stand before her Ladyship. "Lady Susan Foppingay-Phipps, this is my second-in-command, Lieutenant Andrew C. Gillette." 

"Your Ladyship." Gillette dipped his head gracefully, putting on a polite smile, although a flash of something painful went through him at the sparkle in Norrington's eyes. He knew it wasn't for him. 

"Lieutenant, you tell a charming and well-versed story." Lady Susan said with a smile, offering her slender hand to be taken. Gillette took it, kissing the back of it for a moment. She kept it in his grip a... moment longer than she should have, in his opinion, then took it back. "I was quite riveted by the Commodore's many adventures." 

"Well, it's hard to not make the Commodore an interesting character in his own adventures." Gillette said smoothly, internally frowning. She was certainly _intense_, wasn't she? Her eyes never seemed to leave Norrington, even as she spoke to him. 

"Of course not." Lady Susan's smile widened a touch, as she _finally_ looked at him. "But I'm assured that nothing with the Commodore could possibly dull." 

"You flatter me, my Lady." Norrington said with the slightest hint of a smile. 

_Yes you do, while apparently complimenting me._ Gillette's internal frown deepened. "Well, as much as I would like to tell more tales for your amusement, we really must be off. Shall I go get the carriage, sir?" 

"Hmm? Oh yes, Gillette." Norrington said slowly. "We really must be going...." 

"Then I'll go get the carriage." Gillette said. A pause, as neither Bush or Norrington seemed to be moving, and he added a little more firmly, "Which of course means, we will have have to move towards the front door. The carriage can hardly come inside." 

Norrington and Bush both blinked at Gillette, as if such a thought were uncommon. Gillette bit back the urge to ask 'Unless you two have had carriages come to get you at the very doors to your quarters?' Sarcasm was not going to help in this situation, however satisfying it may be. 

With another apologetic bow to her Ladyship, wishing her a polite but brisk good evening, he moved towards the door. If they weren't following him in a minute, he would take the extreme pleasure of dragging them both out by their ears. 

He stepped outside after saying his goodbyes, once more, to Mrs. Van-Crife. He was glad for the cold air coming off the bay, for it cooled his cheeks and some of his jealousy. _It's ridiculous to feel this way. After all, he isn't mine to claim. He has a right to be charmed by a beautiful woman._ There was a pause, as his fists clenched. _...But just not her!_

The carriage pulled around front, and he climbed inside. After settling himself, he stared moodily out of the window, trying to piece together what so bothered him about Lady Susan. He didn't feel this sudden distrust for any of the other ladies who flirted with the Commodore. Why did she set off a feeling of grave alarm? 

Two minutes later, Bush climbed in, smiling brightly at Gillette. "Well here I am, and you didn't even need to come up the front stairs with your carriage in tow." 

Gillette flashed a thin smile, forcing down the sharp, painful jealousy once more. "Where's James?" 

Bush nodded towards the front doors, where Norrington was bidding goodbye to Lady Susan. Gillette's frown came from the mental to the physical as he watched Lady Susan watching Norrington walk towards their carriage. Perhaps he was looking far too into things - and considering his emotions on the matter that was entirely possible - but there was just something... offish about her attentions. 

_Too focused, too fast,_ was the thought in his brain as Norrington closed the door, smiling at his two officers. "Well she was a very charming woman, wasn't she Jonathan?" 

"A breath of fresh air, James." Bush added with a firm nod of his head, as he turned to Gillette. "What about you, Andrew? What did you think of her, as brief your meeting was?" 

"Yes Cris, what did you think of her?" Norrington asked, one eyebrow raised curiously. 

Gillette found himself in a similar situation to the one earlier with Mrs Van-Crife, and again he went with the easy, noncommittal answer. "I found her rather more interesting than I had upon being first introduced." This seemed to satisfy both of his friends, and left Gillette to his own thoughts. 

Interesting, of course, was only _one_ of the words that was flittering through his mind on the matter of Lady Susan Foppingay-Phipps. 


	3. Chapter 3 Cats On The Prowl

Author's Notes: You know those _Pirates_ characters? They STILL don't belong to me. Dammit. However! I claim the kittens! The kittens are mine..yeeees, miiiineee...

Dedicated to Musey for coming back and inspiring me. Welcome back, darlink! 

Rant Chapter 3 - Cats On The Prowl  
----------------------------- 

_Well she was a very charming woman...very charming woman ... very charming woman..._ The words played on a loop within Gillette's mind the next day as he walked through the _Dauntless_, seeing to its preparations for heading out to sea later that afternoon. He gave orders with an air of distraction that was noted by many of the crew, who frowned and muttered amongst themselves. 

In fact, Gillette was so distracted, it took Bush three times calling his name to garner his attention, when the other man was a mere five feet away from him. Bush frowned at his friend, as he handed the senior officer the note from the Commodore about making sure they had enough gunpowder aboard. "Are you all right, sir? You seem not quite yourself." 

"Just a bit off my feed, as my Irish grandmother would say," Gillette said with a thin, tired smile, reading over the note, then with a little more feeling in his voice. "Carpenter, Jenkins! See that we get another full six barrels of powder below." 

"Aye, sir!" The crewhands replied, relief apparent in their voice. There was the Gillette they knew - sharp and efficient. 

Bush noted the sudden spark in his friend's eye, and the more dutiful step, smiling a little. "We'll have to make sure you get a heartier luncheon, then." 

"Hm? Oh yes. Something filling will do wonders... blast, I meant to send you back with the navigation charts I marked for the Commodore. I must have left them below in my quarters... will the Commodore be here soon?" Gillette asked, chastising himself for not being more attentive with his duties. _One attractive woman flirts with James, and not only do I start suspecting her, but I start assuming that a few admiring comments make an entire love affair._

"He's been delayed - the Governor wanted one last report before we set sail, but he should be here within the hour," Bush reported dutifully. 

"Well then, I'll just fetch them and leave them in his office for his perusal when he arrives," Gillette said briskly. "Carry on, Lieutenant Bush. I'll be below." 

He headed down the stairs to the lower desks, moving along the creaky wooden halls with a brisk step. His fingers reached up to brush the long slats with fondness. He loved the _Dauntless_; he had spent some of the happiest hours of his life aboard this ship. Sailing the oceans, with Bush there to cheer him and mock him, and James... James there to love. Love and honor. A lifetime of passion accumulated over a mere number of years. There was no match, no peer to James Norrington, in Andrew Gillette's heart. 

_The best and purest kind of love,_ Gillette snorted to himself. _The unrequited kind._ He opened the door to his modest cabin, blinking with surprise as something warm and fuzzy wrapped around his ankles. He looked down with a warm smile at the large ginger cat purring at him. "Well good day to you as well, Madam Cinnamon. We had wondered where you had disappeared to." 

Cinnamon was the _Dauntless_'s ship cat, and had been for three years. She was the pet of the ship's crew and officers, for they doted on her with food and other tidbits. However, it was to Gillette she always curled up with first, to Gillette she brought the dead rats and other varying and sundry 'presents'. Now she nipped lightly at Gillette's boot, before slinking over to one of the cupboards that lined the walls. Curious, Gillette followed her, kneeling down beside the cabinet she nosed open. 

It was dark inside, but even there he could hear the soft meowing. Cinnamon purred in pleasure at Gillette's excited exclamation, settling amongst her brood of mewling kittens, all of them little more than two months old. Gillette smiled, reaching to pet one of the brood. Cinnamon nuzzled his hand in permission, and he gently nuzzled one of the kittens beneath its furry jaw. "Well now, _Maman_ Cinnamon - this is a fine brood you have here." 

Cinnamon purred with motherly pride, nuzzling Gillette's hand once more. He rubbed her stomach lightly, then frowned. Hm - eight nubs. Seven kittens. He searched delicately in the dark, but found no sign of a small body. So either the kitten had never been born, or it was wandering around his room. His lips pressed together. He had been in and out of his quarters all day - the kitten could have slipped out without him even noticing. He'd best find it before something happened to the little kit, or Cinnamon finally noticed its absence and put up a stink over it. Mother cats were notably protective of their broods, defending them against all outsiders. 

He started to search his quarters first, careful to move things without upsetting them too much. He didn't want to accidentally squish the poor thing. So intent was he in his search that it took him a moment to register that there were people standing outside in the hall near his cabin. He frowned for a moment - had he just heard a _woman's_ voice? He stopped his search, moving to the door and throwing it open. 

The sight that met his eyes was completely and totally unwelcome. Lady Susan stood at the door of Norrington's cabin, her arm entwined with the marine Murtogg. The young man looked somewhere between enraptured and distinctly uncomfortable as he murmured, "But .. I can't let you go _inside_, Ladyship. These are the Commodore's private quarters." 

"Now Mr. Murtogg ..." Lady Susan spoke softly, gently running one fingertip up the sleeve of Murtogg's coat, making the young man flush. "I am sure that the Commodore wouldn't mind my stopping by -just- to leave a note, would he?" 

Gillette's mouth dropped open in surprise, then his entire expression narrowed. Jealousy aside - what did this woman think she was up to? Did she even _know_ how grossly inappropriate it would be for her to be wandering around the Commodore's cabin? Or perhaps that was the point. He spoke up then, his tones crisp and sharp. "I can assure you, your Ladyship, he would." A pause, and he pointedly added. "After all, there is your _reputation_ to think of." 

The reaction was instantaneous - Lady Susan stepped away from Murtogg, and the young marine flushed a red that matched his coat and his hair. That alone told Gillette that the young man wasn't exactly a willing accomplice in this situation. He moved the short distance down the hall, putting himself firmly between Lady Susan and the Commodore's door. Lady Susan's eyes narrowed, just a touch, then her expression smoothed into sweetness itself. "Oh, I don't know what I could have been thinking, Lieutenant! I merely wanted to drop off an invitation for the Commodore, personally." 

That look would have fooled lesser men, in fact Murtogg's expression relaxed at the honeyed words. _Like Hell_ was Gillette's internal response, but he smiled with bright congeniality, marking his tone with an indulgence that he didn't feel. "Oh, well. There is no harm done, then, your Ladyship. Merely a little social blunder. We all have them." She batted her eyelashes at him with a sweet smile, then moved as if to go past him, and he raised his arm to stop her, adding with the same polite tones. "So why don't _I_ just bring him the invitation?" 

Lady Susan's mouth twisted for a moment into something completely alien to her usually lovely countenance. Then those lips curved into the self-same smile, as she dipped into her pocket and held out the invitation. "That is so kind of you, Lieutenant Gillette." 

"A gentleman before an officer, my Lady," Gillette answered smoothly, before turning to Murtogg. He wasn't completely sure he should leave the young man alone with Lady Susan, and a sudden thought occurred to him as he glanced back over his shoulder at the cabin. "Mr. Murtogg - I have a job for you. Madam Cinnamon has given birth to a fine litter of eight kittens... and I can only find seven of them. Gather a few of the boys and search for the poor thing?" 

Murtogg's face went through a variety of emotions. First apprehension at the job, then delight over the kittens, proving to Gillette once again what a gentle soul this simple young man was, then a frown at the thought of one of the poor creatures being lost. There was a moment of hesitation, as he glanced over to Lady Susan, before he saluted. "Aye, Lieutenant." 

Gillette turned swiftly, and caught the tail end of a dark expression on Lady Susan's pale features. She smiled at him complacently, and Gillette had to force himself to return it. "And I shall accompany her ladyship to the docks. Wouldn't want you to get lost, of course." 

"Of course not. So kind, Lieutenant." 

"Just doing my duty, my Lady." 

And so the mental foils were momentarily laid aside, but both opponents knew they would meet another day. The battle, as some would say, had just begun. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

James Norrington sat himself down behind his desk on the _Dauntless_, smoothing his fingers over the leather-bound arms of the chair with a soft sigh of satisfaction. To be here, to be in command of his ship again. There was no greater pleasure to him than being a Captain of the ship of the line, and the Dauntless was a first-rate ship, to be sure. 

He rifled through the neat stack of papers and missives on his desk, pleased to see that Gillette had completely finsihed the revisions he asked for. He let his eyes linger over the neat yet expressive handwriting of his junior officer, nodding his head in silent approval. Excellent, and exactly what he asked for. Putting them aside, he continued through his correspondence, blinking with surprise at the small envelope pushed in the middle of his reports on pirate activities. Taking up his letter opener, he opened it and read the unfamiliar hand. 

Aaah, Lady Susan! Well, he must have made an impression for her to send him a note so early in their acquaintance. He continued to skim, a slight frown working over his face. Poor woman, she must be lonely, staying here all alone, to invite a perfect stranger to dine with her. Well, considering the impropriety, he would send a polite refusal. After all, a recent widow, as she had stated to him that she was, probably simply needed male companionship. The loss of a loved one was always hard, even more so if that person had been your partner in life. 

His mind drifted solemnly over to Elizabeth Swann as he took out his paper and uncapped the inkpot on his desk. She would have made the ideal wife - her wit and humor, her sweetness and her comforting presence. Something warm and good, for a man to come home to. That is all he really wanted from her, companionship and love. Apparently, that wasn't enough. 

_Did you really expect it to be?_ the little voice in the back of his mind asked, _After all, a young brilliant girl like that, and you honestly thought she would be happy to be a career officer's wife? Fool._

He let out a sigh, then sat up a little straighter as he reached for a quill pen. There was no room for dwelling on the past. After all, what was it that Gillette always said? _The only point to looking to the past if you're fool enough to want to run face first into the future._

A smile crackled the edge of his usually apathetic expression, as he penned out a short, but sincere refusal to Lady Susan. Gillette had been in high form the other night - he sparkled with a life that few others at the party could come close to. Even Lady Susan, with all her fresh charms, seemed a little dull when Gillette came to the fore. Perhaps it was simply because he had known Andrew for so long, but he frankly found other people tedious next to his Lieutenant. Himself, alas, included. 

He leaned back, reading over his response, then nodded his head once in silent approval before sprinkling a little powder over it to help it dry. Then he reached for one of his envelopes, knocking his quill to the floor in the process. He grimaced, reaching down to get the quill. 

A moment later, Mr. Mullroy started, smacking his head on the steps above him at the yelp coming from the Commodore's office. He stared at the closed door, but when no Commodore came out a'bellowing, he shrugged before returning to his search for the lost kit. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

"...She is a widow, Andrew. Perhaps she didn't think anyone would feel it was amiss for a widow to be in a man's bedchambers," Bush said slowly, his brow creased in a frown. 

"Maiden, wife, widow - the same rules apply. No woman alone in an officer's quarters, unless she is _his_ wife or _his_ fiancée," Gillette said firmly, as they moved as one towards the Commodore's office. 

"Are you sure you aren't simply adding suspicion where suspicion is not because of certain emotive responses?" Bush asked, one eyebrow raising. 

Gillette's mouth opened, then shut with a sharp snap. "Perhaps. However, it doesn't make the action any less questionable." Raising his hand, he rapped on the Commodore's door twice, then put his finger to his lips, looking meaningfully at Bush. 

Bush touched his own lips, and whispered, "Silent as the grave, chum." They heard the brisk call of "Enter!" and stepped inside. 

"Good day, gentlemen. I have our orders here from the Admiralty." Norrington's tone was brisk, as he held out two pieces of parchment to his Lieutenants. His face was impassive, and he folded his hands, one over the other, on the desk. 

Gillette frowned, noting the one thing the Commodore covered up, and not entirely artfully. He let his eyes shift down to the orders, even as he questioned Norrington, "Have you done yourself an injury, sir?" 

Norrington's green eyes flashed momentarily down to his hand, more specifically to his bandaged thumb, and he cleared his throat. "Just fine, Lieutenant. Now... the objective of our orders..." 

Gillette listened intently, folding his hands behind his back. Or at least, he tried to listen intently. After a few minutes he frowned. The frown deepened as the seconds ticked by. What was that noise? It was edging right at the back of his mind, distracting him from following the Commodore with his usual rapt attention. He glanced over at Bush, and was faintly pleased to see that the same sort of frown played over Bush's features. 

Their eyes met, in puzzlement, before Bush's eyes widened and he turned back to Norrington. "Sir?" 

Norrington stopped, his dark eyebrows lifting a touch. "Yes, Lieutenant?" 

Bush wet his lips, glancing over at Gillette before saying slowly, "Sir, forgive me, but I believe your desk is _mewling_." 

Norrington's eyebrows rose higher, and then comprehension came over his face. "Ah. Yes. Well, that's my prisoner." 

Gillette and Bush blinked at each other, before speaking together, "Your Prisoner, sir?" 

A wry expression came over Norrington's usually unemotional face, and he gestured his subordinates to come around the desk itself. Curious, both men moved around, their eyes moving down to the drawers of Norrington's desk. 

He pulled the largest one, which was already partially open, all the way out. Three pairs of human eyes gazed down into one pair of feline ones. The small marmalade kitten tilted its fuzzy head, and mewled again as it batted at Norrington's pocket handkerchief. 

Gillette's eyes widened, as he reached in to scoop the kitten up. "James! I can't believe you locked it in a desk drawer! It's just a baby!" 

Norrington's face went from bemused to vaguely disgruntled. "I did not lock it in the drawer - I just made sure it couldn't get out again. Imprisonment, not torture." He looked at his thumb ruefully. "Beyond that, I never knew helpless babies to be so vicious." 

"Still, it didn't know any better. I bet it was just playing. Isn't that right my..." Gillette lifted the kitten up, then smiled as he ran his slender fingers over the kitten's fur. "Lad." 

Norrington's lips twitched. "I wish I got half as much sympathy for my hurt thumb, Andrew." 

Gillette's mouth went dry at Norrington's seemingly harmless words, and suddenly his eyes shifted to Bush. Bush, who was smiling _that_ smile of his again, the one that always meant trouble. His friend's dark eyes blazed as he drawled out slowly, "Well sir, I'm sure that if you hold it up, Andrew will be more than willing to kiss it _all_ bet-OW!" 

Gillette's mouth flexed into a thin smile as he removed his elbow from Bush's stomach. "Permission to return the kitten to his mother, sir?" 

Norrington cleared his throat. "Permission granted. Just be quick about it. I'd rather have the kit set on me than the angry mother." 

"As so often is the case, sir." Gillette cuddled up the kitten in his arms, and moved towards the door, closing it behind him quietly. 

Norrington's lips moved into a real smile, as he rubbed his thumb again. "Gillette is a softer touch than I realized." 

Bush glanced towards the door quietly, then down at Norrington. Teasing aside, it pained him to see Andrew Gillette torturing himself this way. It pained him to watch James Norrington give his heart out to unworthy trollops, while completely missing the one soul that wished only to love him. Moral constraints were one thing - the law quite another - but eternal suffering had to be less damning than what both of his dearest friends were inflicting on themselves. 

"Indeed sir. Very true indeed." Was his only reply. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

"That's my hair, you know." Gillette informed the small troublemaker from earlier who decided that the copper-colored hair spread out over the pillow was much more interesting than the balls of paper the rest of his brothers and sisters were playing with. Gillette stretched out on the floor, frowning at the missive again, making a mental note to ask Bush about what he thought of a two-pronged attack, when another insistent pawing caught his attention. He leaned his head back to glare at the kitten, who looked back at him with maddening innocence. He sighed, and started to sit up slowly. "All right, all right... we'll play. But I want you to know this under duress." 

He straightened, putting the kitten in his lap, letting the small orange ball of fur bat at the open gap of his shirt with a little laugh, tossing his loose hair over his shoulder. "You're a little fighter, aren't you? Toughest one of the bunch, aren't you?" 

Outside Gillette's door, Norrington paused, one side of his mouth lifting at the low, rolling sound of Gillette's laughter. Chiding himself for eavesdropping, he knocked lightly on the door, and at Gillette's cheerful "Come in!" he entered, a large tray in hand. 

Then stopped dead at the sight in front of him. 

He thought to himself, a little dazed, why he had never noticed how many different golden highlights rested in Gillette's red hair, or just how warm and open that normally cool face could be. Or that the smile that greeted him was filled with charm and light and something else that was just nigh inexplicable. 

"James!" Gillette said, pulling him from his surprisingly tender musings. "Come, what have you got there?" 

"Food for the prisoners," Norrington said, finding his voice at last as he went to kneel on the floor across from Gillette and the kittens, putting the tray down and emptying it of saucers of milk. "Although they should know they shall not get such good treatment if they continue to attack the Commodore." 

Gillette watched as the treasured ease came over Norrington's face, the lessening of tension in the tall frame, and the long strong arms and legs. He marveled silently at the privilege of being one of the few who could see his Commodore like this, wig gone and hair loose, the shirt open just enough to see the faint dark hair on his chest. He spoke, hoping his voice wasn't as lustful as his thoughts, "Well sir, I'm sure they're very contrite." 

Norrington looked up from the kittens frolicking over to the saucers, startled at the low tone in Gillette's voice. Startled with the pulse in him that wished it would come again. After a moment he smiled quietly, as he flicked lightly at the tail of one of the stripped kits. "As well they should be. Especially that little biter." 

"Well, despite Bush's comments, I am afraid I can do nothing more than hand you another bandage, sir." Gillette put his words as lightly as he could, pulling his knee up to his chest. 

Norrington's eyes drifted over his Lieutenant once again, and stayed there. A heat had started pounding in his veins, a heat he had felt a few scant times before but put it down to mere excitement or too much wine. But his body was at rest, at least most of it. Suddenly he wanted nothing more than to reach across the space between him and Andrew to touch that hair. To beg a kiss to, as Jonathan had put so well, make it all better. 

Gillette's eyes were warm, but becoming a trifle bit confused around the edges, and Norrington shook his head, pushing himself quickly to his feet. "I'm sorry, I am staring mindlessly. I must be much more tired than I thought." 

Gillette moved to rise as well. "Well, the hour is late, sir, and you must be exhausted." _Stupid Andrew. You should have told him to go to bed immediately. Stupid and selfish to want to keep him here for a few more minutes, nay, a few more hours._

"Indeed. Exhausted to the bone." Norrington straightened, turning slightly away so certain things that had suddenly become quite obvious to him were not so obvious to his poor, unknowing Lieutenant. He had to get out of here, immediately. "See you in the morning, Cris." 

"Sleep well, James." Came Gillette's soft reply, and Norrington again had to force himself to move away at the sudden lilt to Gillette's onyx eyes. 

_What is wrong with me?_ he hissed to himself, shutting the door behind him and moving down the hall swiftly, 'What in the world did I think I was doing in there? My God, what Andrew would have thought of me if I had given into those insane thoughts!' Thoughts, now set free to wander, did so freely as Norrington closed the door to his cabin firmly. The sight of Gillette's hands moving as he talked. The flash of those dark eyes. The copper hair that Norrington's fingers now trembled to bury themselves within. 

Was he this lonely? 

Was he _this_ insane? 

Or was he suddenly waking up to something building up in his heart? 

Norrington leaned against the door to his cabin, staring at his bed with a disturbed glare. Oh, there would be no sleeping well tonight. None at _all_. 


	4. Disguised Intent

Rant Chapter 4 - Disguised Intent ----------------------------- 

_?There is nothing more frustrating in this world or any other than a stubborn Half-Irish, Half-French Lieutenant,_ Jonathan Bush thought to himself, as he eyed his friend, clearly only moments away from a 'rant-moment'. 

"Listening to French being spoken by a Spaniard," Gillette said firmly, crossing his arms over his chest. 

Bush sighed, rubbing his fingers against his forehead with a slightly aggravated look in his brown eyes. "Andrew..." 

"Eating anything that has crabmeat in it," Gillette continued, not to be deterred. 

"Andrew, you can't get out of this. Again," Bush pointed out wryly, as he sat up in his chair. "You've weaseled out of every single social engagement with Lady Susan present for the past three weeks. People are starting to talk." 

Gillette leaned over the desk, resting his graceful hands atop Bush's desk, his dark eyes intent. "Making love to _Jack Sparrow_. In a _Tortuga_ inn, if they have such things there." 

"...Actually, I always thought Captain Sparrow was rather attractive..." Bush trailed off at Gilette's fierce look, and sighed. "Listen Cris, I have no power on whether you do or do not go to the Governor's masked ball. But coming up with 'Things I would rather be doing' is not going to get you past James. He is going to -insist- on your attendence." He gave his friend a rather steely look. "Of course, the TRUTH..." 

"The Truth? How could I possibly tell him the truth when it is quite obvious how drawn he is to Lady Susan?" Gillette growled, pacing Bush's office once more. "You'd have to be blind." 

"Yeee-s, and that's a bit odd, acutally. James is normally never so blatant..." Bush tapped his fingers against the dark wood of his desk. 

Gillette stopped in his pacing, frowning. "You're right. Not even over Miss Swann was he that obvious. I mean, he certainly showed interest - respectfully courted her - ungrateful wretch that she was..." 

"Which broke your heart," Bush pointed out, "and had you said something before, would have saved you both a world of pain." 

"Ash, really. What sort of home did you grow up in that it was a perfectly acceptable to break God's laws left and right?" Gillette sighed, finally coming to rest in a chair set across from Bush and his desk. 

"One where love was accepted as God's Gift to us all, and not His punishment." Bush countered. "That's why I push you. That's why I despair at James. That's why I am going to this engagement ball to fully celebrate Elizabeth Swann's choice, because she seems to be the only person in this port who knows what she really wants." 

"She broke James's heart," Gillette said hotly, his dark eyes flashing. 

"Yes, for one brief moment, not an entire lifetime," Bush said quietly, "She could have given into duty, as you do, as James does, and left the entire lot of you miserable. But she followed her heart, and is better for it. She should be your object lesson, Cris, not suffer from your censure. Not like Lady Susan." 

"...I thought you liked her Ladyship? You've been going to all these balls in her honor for the past month since we got back to Port with James." Gillette's ginger eyebrows arched, and his anger with Elizabeth Swann was momentarily forgotten. 

"What you said about her being at the door of James's cabin stuck with me - and you are rarely, if ever, wrong about people. I forgive you your hatred of Elizabeth Swann and Captain Sparrow because they affect you personally... but you had just met Lady Susan and you disliked her. Let us just say that the Lady doesn't improve on accquaintance." Bush actually looked grim, a completely different expression to his usual cheerful countenance. 

Gillette's expression darkened once more. "How so?" 

"The Lady's attention wanders when James isn't in the room." Bush tapped his fingers together. "It wanders from here to there. It wanders everywhere. Even to me." 

Gillette's mouth twisted. "Present company excluded, I can't see how she can be so... free with her favors?" 

"She isn't, and that's the trick of it. She rides the edge of impropriety so well I think they are old accquaintances." Bush sighed, sitting up a little, "You want to know why I go to these blasted things when they aren't the slightest bit fun without you there? To protect James. I have this gut feeling, Andrew, that's she's more dangerous than she looks." 

Gillette's jaw worked a little, and he sighed. He had been avoiding Lady Susan for the dual reasons that he feared his tongue around her, and he didn't wish to watch James made a fool once again. However, there was the other side of the blade, where if he left James in this woman's clutches she could do him a serious injury - and this time it might be something more than his heart. 

His jaw braced into a trully fierce expression. Never. He would _never_ let this woman hurt his Commodore. Abruptly he rose, his words edging around his accent, "Come along, Jonathan." 

Bush started from his chair, but rose quickly enough, going for his coat and hat, "And where, praytell, am I coming along to?" 

"We're getting costumes for this damned ball. James is going to be so protected he'll feel suffocated by Lieutenants, and that's that." Gillette said stiffly, throwing open the door. "I won't go through another 'One Day More' nonsense. Not for _her_." 

Bush hid a smile quickly as he followed. 

----------------------------- 

_This Isn't Working,_ James Norrington thought to himself with frustration, as he and Lady Susan trailed along the fort wall. _Why isn't this working? She is a enchanting, beautiful woman and God Knows I'm attracted to her on a physical level. Why am I not falling madly in love with her?_

He wouldn't consider the answer. It was sinful. Wrong. Unworthy of his dearest friend and long-time confidante. Again he was struck with the heavy guilt of 'What would Andrew think of me?' So low, so perverse to be wanting him. Just the other day at review - Gillette had turned and said something to him - slightly brusque - and Norrington literally trembled within to hold back the desire to take him aside. Speak with him. Touch him. Soft touches that led to baring all that milk-white perfect skin... 

Control. _Control._ He had to have _control_ over these dissolute desires. He cleared his throat a little, turning to smile at Lady Susan once more, who put her hand on his arm and trailed her fingers up his sleeve a little, bringing a slight flush to his cheeks. Yes, that was much more like it. 

"It's such a lovely fort, Commodore. I can't even begin to imagine how much time and patience it takes to keep it running." Lady Susan curled her lips up into a generous smile. 

"Well, one does what one can for one's country, Ladyship," he answered with a quick quirk of a smile. Excellent. Charming yet polite. He _could_ successfully woo a woman, Elizabeth and her blacksmith be damned. 

"One would think you go above and beyond the call, Commodore. In all aspects." Lady Susan flashed another brilliant smile at him, moving her body just so, her cleavage peeking out of her fine yellow silk dress. 

Norrington cleared his throat and tore his gaze away, attempting to speak neutrally. "I live to serve others, my Lady." 

"Ah, but who serves you, Commodore?" Lady Susan arched one perfect golden eyebrow, moving to stand in front of him. Norrington nearly took an involuntary step backwards, eyes widening at the secretive and coy smile on her lips. Ah, perhaps he was charming a bit too well? 

"Ah-em." A voice interrupted, and Norrington and Lady Susan turned, startled, at the slender form of Elizabeth Swann. Elizabeth smile thinly, her fingers resting around the parasol in a manner Norrington recognized as a passable sword grip, and spoke in a voice honeyed-sweet, "Commodore Norrington, Lady Susan. Pardon me for interrupting your little... walk?" 

She put enough of a question on it, and put enough of a direct look to her Ladyship, that James felt even more embarrassed than before. He cleared his throat, stepping away from Lady Susan to say as calmly as he was able, "There is no problem at all, Miss Swann. How may I help you?" 

"My father sent this note along to you." Elizabeth offered the Commodore a warm and sincere smile - one he was rarely accquainted with and therefore took him by surprise. 

_Ah Norrington, bad enough with Andrew, but haven't you gotten past this girl yet?_ His heart told him no, and he sighed internally as he moved forward to take the note from her with a formal little nod, and an almost smile of his own. "Thank you, Miss Swann. It was kind to stop here on what must be a... busy and happy day." 

"Oh, no. I came for purely selfish reasons of my own," Elizabeth said, looking cooly over to Lady Susan, before flashing him another sincere smile, "I was hoping to ask you for the pleasure of one of the first dances, Commodore?" 

Both of Norrington's eyebrows shot up, and he found himself momentarily flummoxed before answering, "Well, of course Miss Swann. I would be honored..." He paused, then cleared his throat, "That is, if your fiancé doesn't mind." 

"Actually, he was the one who suggested it - he doesn't care much for dancing unless it's with a sword, and it's well known you're one of the finest dancers in Port Royal, Commodore." Elizabeth's smile returned, rueful, before stretching into pure brilliance. 

"And how is your fiancé, Miss Swann?" Lady Susan asked, her genrous full lips parting into a smile. 

The brilliance swept from warm to icy cold in just a moment as Elizabeth fixed her eyes back on her Ladyship. "He is quite well. Thank you for inquiring." 

"Such a dear boy. I did so enjoy speaking to him at Mrs. Bilsworth's little dinner." Lady Susan flickered her fan open with a snap, the self-same smile on her face. Norrington found himself wondering if he was in another one of those female conversations where everything was said in some sort of code - and he was only getting the barest glimmers of meaning. 

Elizabeth's lips lifted frostily. "He had nothing but the highest praise for your topics of conversation. I never realized you knew so many things about blacksmithies, your Ladyship." 

"Well, it's always good to know a little bit of something about what interests gentlemen. They get so bored with conversations about teacups and the latest fashions, don't you find that to be so, Commodore?" Lady Susan smoothly moved forward, flickering her fan in Norrington's direction. 

"Ah, well. It's always good for a young lady to have a breadeth of conversation topics on hand." Norrington straightened a little. "A man hopes to have conversation that is enlightening and yet entertaining." 

"Well then, it's a good thing so few things are ever lacking in our own conversations, Commodore," Elizabeth said, flipping open her own fan. 

Norrington couldn't help smile but at that. "Indeed, Miss Swann. Never did I know a young lady so well versed in the Royal Navy." 

"Really? I never knew Miss Swann so educated. I would think your father wouldn't want his daughter to be so filled with concerns beyond her station," Lady Susan said, flicking her wand again. 

This time it was Elizabeth with the pleasant smile, one that didn't quite reach her rich eyes. "My father realizes that the lady of his house must well accquainted with all matters dealing with his office. I'm surprised you didn't know that, being the former wife of a Lord." 

"My husband was well beyond the years of his political glory when he passed on. We lived in a simple, country lifestyle," Lady Susan intoned sweetly and piously. "Far from the scandalous lifestyle of a politician's family." 

"I find that hard to believe, your Ladyship. Unless of course we are speaking of the backcountry." Elizabeth flitted her fan in front of her face. "And then it makes much more sense." 

Hrm. The barbs were becoming less subtle and ever the more sharp. Norrington cleared his throat, straightening, "Well, ladies, I really must be getting back to work... I'll be seeing you both this evening, I trust." 

"Indubitably, Commodore Norrington. I look forward to seeing you, and of course the darling Mr. Turner, again. Good day, Miss Swann." Lady Susan closed her fan, offered a polite little curstey to them both, before heading down the steps. Her hips, Norrington noted vaguelly, moved with an almost swagger that reminded him of Jack Sparrow. Elizabeth stared after her, the entire lines of her body tensing, and Norrington began to wonder if he would have to physically restrain her from jumping on Lady Susan and beating her Ladyship about the head with her parasol. Instead, with that poise that Norrington so admired in the young woman, she took a deep breath, turned to Norrington and offered a wry smile. "Again, my apologies for interrupting your precious moments of free time, Commodore." 

Norrington's lips twisted into a wry smile, "I shall punish you with two dances, Miss Swann." 

"Oh, however shall I survive?" Elizabeth said with a twinkle in her dark eyes, before tucking away her own fan, and moving towards the steps. She paused at the top of them, to look back at them, "James?" 

Again, Norrington was startled. It took so much for her to use his first name, even in a social context. In his shock, he slipped from formality, speaking on more familiar terms than he had for months. "Yes, Elizabeth?" 

"Please... be careful. Don't trust your heart where it doesn't belong," Elizabeth said simply. "Bad enough that I hurt you on my own selfish account. It would kill me that a fine man like yourself... well. I only want the best for you." 

Norrington's aqualine face moved into a frown of confusion, but he nodded his head. "Thank you for your concern." 'If you only knew how dreadful it has become.' However, her point was. if he was discerning correctly, to Lady Susan. 

He watched her leave, his thoughts more troubled from before. Folding his hands behind him, he turned again to the horizon. Did he have the right sort of judgement when it came to his heart? After all, so far he had fallen in love with two people, one whose engagement ball he was attending this evening, and the other was his closest friend and a _man_, for the love of all that was Holy. 

What did he know of the Lady Susan, beyond the fact she was charming and looked well in a fancy dress? Almost nothing. In fact, the only thing he really knew about her is that she seemed to fancy him. 

_In the end, really, that is all it takes to win your heart, James Norrington. You want love, and don't care who offers attention of the romantic kind,_ he thought to himself glumly, turning away from the bay, and heading back down the stairs to his office. Paperwork made a great deal more sense to him than his own myriad desires. 

----------------------------- 

At the Fort Charles's front gate, Elizabeth watched as Lady Susan drove off in her carriage, a scowl marring her lovely features. She muttered to herself, as she awaited her own, "If that woman was a pirate, I'd put on my tri-cornered hat and blow her out of the water myself. Long nines and all." 

"Really, Miss Swann?" A richly amused voice said behind her. She turned, startled, to find Lieutenants Bush and Gillette, the former with a devilish grin and the latter with an interesting expression on his face, one that said to Elizabeth that the Lieutenant was trying to either look formally distant or smile viciously. Bush folded one hand behind his back, quirking up one eyebrow, "Shall I ask you whether or not you intend to keelhaul her, or simply hang her from the highest yard arm?" 

"And if that is the case," Gillette finally settled on a smile, "may we watch?" 

Elizabeth blinked, before her own vicious smirk appeared. "Gentlemen, might I have the pleasure of driving you both into town, if that is where you are heading? I have a feeling we have _much_ to discuss." 

Pirates are not the only ones who make accords. 

----------------------------- 

Governor Weatherby Swann was known as a kind and generous man, especially so to his only daughter. Her Engagement Ball was no exception - for it was an affair of colorful silk and silver, brightly gleaming from every doorway and at every table. Guests dressed in costumes of similiar colors, their masks covering all matter of creatures - some real, some fantastic. 

Gillette held the fox-faced mask over his eyes again, his eyes narrowed as he continued to scan the glittering ballroom. The tailor had cooed about the perfection of the russet silk to his natural hair, but Gillette hardly heard him. He was thinking of nothing but his James. Yes, his. Silent, unacknowledged, completely shameful, but by God he was not going to let that woman have him. First, however, he had to find the man, and that Lady. 

There was the Governor himself, dressed in dark greys, appropriate as he was an owl. 

Ah, and there was Bush, all together sly and grinning within his group of female admirers as a raccoon. He caught Bush's eye, and recieved a head nod and an almost wink response. He snorted softly, holding back his smile. Bush never could resist showing off. 

There was the young Mister Turner, looking appropriately uncomofortable in his fancy new clothes, a lion's mask over his handsome young features. He seemed to be very keen on losing himself in the crowds tonight. Gillette had to wonder why. 

Turner slipped off into the crowd, nervously glancing about, before disappearing from sight completely. Gillette watched him with a frown, but pulled his gaze away as another wave of guests arrived. He made a noise of disgruntlement when none of them were James. 

"Any sight of the 'darling couple' yet?" Elizabeth's voice tickled at his ear, and he turned towards her. He blinked, once, with pleasant shock. Elizabeth had chosen the costume of a swan, unsurprisingly enough, but instead of wearing some rather large and ostenaniously ugly headpiece, she wore a simple sort of feathered cap, letting her curls tumble loose over her creamy white shoulders. Even her dressed was lightly layered to take on a feathered effect. 

She, in turn, looked him over and her dark eyes glowed with approval. "You look extremely dashing this evening, Lieutenant. Russet suits you." 

Gillette actually smiled in return, bowing his head. "And you look lovely, Miss Swann. Might I have the honor of escorting you inside?" 

Elizabeth tilted her head, her lips quirking a little as she took his arm. "The Lieutenant is all kindness. If I had known all I had to do win your approval was forcefully dislike Lady Susan, I would have said something more biting ages ago." 

"My approval is not so easily won. There is the matter of your broken word to the Commodore," Gillette reminded her, as they swept down the steps together. They caught a few surprised, yet intrigued, gazes from the other guests. 

"...I never broke my word," Elizabeth said quietly. Off of Gillette's snort and look of surprise, she shrugged and smiled sadly. "I never broke my word, Lieutenant. If James had asked me on that parapet, with Will beside me and Jack crouching behind me if I still intended to marry him, I would have said yes. I would be Mrs. James Norrington without looking behind me, as much as it would have pained my heart. But instead, he asked me if my heart lay with Will's, and I couldn't lie to him about that. Of all the people who deserve the truth, it's James. He is one of the finest men in my accquaintance... and there is little I could have ever done to be worthy of such attentions from him." 

They had reached the bottom of the stairs, and Gillette turned towards her, frowing openly as he dropped his mask once more. "What in the world are you talking of?" 

"Oh, Lieutenant, surely you didn't think I considered myself an acceptable match? I would embarrass James horribly with my running about, trying to garner personal freedom instead of fulfilling my duties as a Commodore's wife. And the poor man is never very open with his feelings about me - he could never keep me in check with anything but brute personal force. He would have hated himself for that." Elizabeth lowered her voice qto a near-whisper, "James deserves someone, Lieutenant, who understands propriety and love go hand in hand. James's intended should know what is appropriate in public, and what is appropriate behind closed doors. Half the reason I am marrying Will is that he can control me with nothing but a gentle word. It's safe as houses, to marry Will. I won't ever humiliate him." 

A glimmer of understanding flickered through Gillette's ebony-shaded eyes, before he looked off at the crowds abruptly, speaking dryly, "So you are saying that love isn't enough?" 

"It never is. Love and trust, however, are entirely different things. To trust the person you love implicitly... that is a match made in Heaven." Elizabeth's lips curved up more, "So I imagine you must trust the Commodore a great deal." 

Gillette jerked his head back towards her, his mouth working in protest, before she gently put a hand on his arm, stopping the words before they started. She shook her head silently, before nodding her head around the crowded room. "Propriety, Lieutenant." 

"...Indeed, Miss Swann. Indeed," Gillette murmured, glancing over at her again. He might never truly like Elizabeth Swann himself, but he began to see what James had seen in her. Fine woman, indeed. 

Her eyes narrowed a touch, and she nodded her chin towards the front doors, where Lady Susan entered arm in arm with Norrington himself. She had dressed herself demurely as a dove, pearl-white and innocent, while Norrington chose the costume of a hawk, browns and golds mixed in together. He looked all together glorious, and Gillette honestly felt his breath catch in his throat at the sight of James. 

Elizabeth's grip on his arm tightened, and she started to lead him forcefully away, as she whispered low in her throat, "For Godsakes, Lieutenant! Wait until _after_ we've freed him from the harpy to prostrate yourself before him." 

Gillette followed, a glower working over his face, and found Bush by his side, taking his other arm with a waggle of his eyebrows and a knowing grin. Elizabeth dragged the three of them to the fine line of windows looking out into the bay, and out through one set of doors to the long and shadowy balcony just outside. She turned towards them, her eyes bright and eager. "All right, what's our plan for getting rid of her Ladyship?" 

Bush and Gillette blinked at each other, then back at her. She stared at them for a moment, and then threw up her hands. "Do you mean we don't _have_ a plan?" 

"Well, it's not exactly something one comes up with on a whim, Miss Swann," Gillette said brusquely. 

"You'll need rope." 

"...Rope is never admiss in any plan," Bush said thoughtfully. "But what would we do to with the rope?" 

"Attatch it to a grapple, o'course." 

"Well, what in the world would we need a grapple for?" Gillette argued, looking at both them with a frown. 

"How else will y'be able t'carry up the treacle tart, mate?" 

"Now why would we need a..." Elizabeth trailed off, her eyes widening to the size of plates as she stared into the gloom behind her. 

Gillette and Bush turned to where her eyes were fixed, and Bush let out a surprised, "Captain!" 

Elizabeth finally found the words, and she stomped her foot with sudden anger. "JACK!" 

"_Sparrow_," Gillette growled, his hands forming fists readily enough. 

_Captain_ Jack Sparrow leaned away from the balcony's edge, golden smile glittering in the soft candlelight thrown from the ballroom, and bowed decorously at the three co-conspirators. "At your service." 

----------------------------- 


End file.
